


Before It Breaks

by Michelle K (michellek)



Category: Enchanted (2007)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellek/pseuds/Michelle%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think we need some time apart," she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before It Breaks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilythedwarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilythedwarf/gifts).



"I think we need some time apart," she says. "I should get my own apartment, my own space and--"

"Do you really think you can take care of yourself?"

There are many ways Giselle could reply (for instance: she took care of herself for years before she knew Robert, just because it's an existence he finds immature and silly doesn't mean she didn't take care of herself; or: she runs a business, she takes care of their daughter, though she assumes he'd say _my daughter, she's my daughter_), but she knows he's only trying to hurt her. Trying, in his own way, to get her to stay. So she stands there, silent and calm, hands clasped in back of her like she's concealing a surprise. She's still getting used to the idea of leaving him. Of wanting to leave him. Of wanting to be without him, even for a little while. (She's always trying to get used to something, it seems, even after years of living in this world.) It took her so long to barely understand how two people could go from being completely in love and picturing their joyful futures to fighting and snapping and wanting to run away, and it makes no more sense on the inside.

She nods, staring at the chair to his left so she can avoid eye contact. "We'll tell Morgan tomorrow. Then I'll go to a hotel--"

"Please don't do this. I can't--"

The pleading in his voice makes her look at him, and gazing at this man who meant everything, still means so much, makes her want to take it all back. But she can't. She can't live with him anymore. Not like this, at least, even if he considers her as cruel as the first woman who broke his heart. "It's for the best. And it doesn't have to be permanent." She can't imagine it being permanent.

"If you leave now, you won't come back."

He sounds defeated. Looks defeated.

"You don't know that," she says. _I still love you_, she thinks, but she knows it's the sort of truth that would only make this worse. "I don't want this to be over, I just need--"

"Time, I know. You need time. I've done this before. I've had this happen before. You're not going to come back."

He's the one who leaves the room.

*

Morgan cries. Wraps her arms around Giselle. "You can't go."

Giselle hugs back. "It's for the best."

"It's _not_."

She doesn't argue. Strokes her daughter's hair (she's become Morgan's mother whether or not Robert wants to let her have that title now). "I'll still see you. As much as you want. We'll do all the things we used to do. It'll be like it was, except I'll be living somewhere else."

"That's not the same."

Robert finally joins them on the couch, sitting on the other side of Morgan. He rests a hand on her back. "It's not," he says. "But sometimes, things have to change. Even if you don't want them to."

Giselle waits for him to give her a pointed look, but he doesn't look at her at all.

*

Morgan won't come out of her room to say goodbye. Robert tries one last time, talking through the door, before he glances at Giselle. "Do you want to--"

"She needs time," she says, nodding. "I'll let her have time."

She's always talking about time. _This will work out in time. It'll happen in time. I need some time. We need time. _

She wonders if time will ever solve anything.

Robert lifts up the couple of bags she's packed and hands them to her. She doesn't say goodbye. It doesn't seem right.

*

She has a life outside of him. She has her work, she has the girls who beam at the dresses she designs, she has... things that remind her of him, of Morgan, of the children she and Robert were supposed to have together, of how happy they were. While she's stitching fabric together, she can imagine him watching her, wearing the sort of smile she thought he wasn't capable of when she first met him. She hasn't seen him smile that way in months.

They were so happy.

Back then, the worst thing that used to happen was being laughed at by his colleagues at dinner parties when she'd say something _strange_ or _adorable_. And that was never so bad because Robert would come to her defense, or she'd defend herself and he'd squeeze her hand under the table and she'd know she was loved by the only person she needed love from. Back then, their fights weren't about anything important and still carried the thrill of novelty, of emotions deeper than she'd ever felt before. Back then, they always made up.

_Andalasia_, the labels on her dresses say. She wonders how her life would be if she never had to leave. If she and Edward had the wedding they were supposed to have. She would have loved him, she thinks, if not the way she loves Robert. But she'd have no idea what she was missing. And she'd have no idea what real heartache feels like.

Most of the time, she feels like everything was worth it.

*

When they lived together, she always wore his pajamas to bed. The practice started from necessity, continued because she liked how they hung on her, a little too big. How they felt warm and comfortable and were _his_. Even when things started to fall apart she continued to wear them and lay in bed, often alone, remembering the first time they almost kissed. The only time they almost kissed, because after the first time they did, every opportunity to press her lips against his was taken.

Now, in her new apartment, her two-bedroom apartment with boxes littering the floor (Morgan's room is the only one that's decorated, the only one that feels finished), she walks around in nightgowns she made. Nightgowns that don't fit quite right, even though she tailored them to her body.

She misses his smell.

*

Morgan spends every weekend with her. Giselle's good mood never falters, but the consistency isn't enough to make Giselle actually feel happy. And though Morgan, ten years old and aware of what's happening, must suspect, at least a little, that Giselle is merely imitating who she used to be, she goes along with it. Squeals with excitement at the clothes they pick out on their little shopping sprees, giggles at the movies they watch, answers _yes_ whenever Giselle says, _This is fun, isn't it?_ It can be a kindness, pretending, and Morgan is a kind child.

One night, a Sunday, Morgan asks, "When are you coming home?"

Giselle considers her honesty, the whispered, "I don't know," another bit of kindness. Tears sting her eyes, but she smiles. "We should make something. Cookies, brownies. Anything you want."

"What about a cake?"

She wipes the corner of her eye. "I think that would be wonderful."

*

He's the one who files for divorce. The papers are delivered to her work. On Friday, when she goes to pick up Morgan, Giselle wants to ask him, _Is this really what you want?_ But her eyes dart around the living room as she silently stands there. She wants him to say, _I haven't given up on us. I haven't given up on this. I haven't given up on you_. But he silently stands there, arms crossed while his eyes stay focused on the floor. When Morgan emerges, both Giselle and Robert look at their daughter and smile as if everything's fine.

*

The first time they meet with their lawyers, Robert stares at his hands while she watches him.

_It's still you_, she thinks. _If it's not you, what does that mean?_

Robert's lawyer says, "There's no reason why this has to drag on. We should make this as painless as possible."

Giselle tries to hold in a sob, but it comes out. Robert's eyes meet hers.

"I'm not ready for this," she says. "I'm not ready for this. You saved my life. You loving me saved my life. How can that mean nothing?"

"You left," Robert replies.

"I left because we couldn't stop fighting. I left because I couldn't think of any way to fix it. I left because we were supposed to find our way back to each other. But I never said I don't love you."

As she rushes off, she hopes Robert will chase after her.

He doesn't.

*

The next day, there's a knock on her door. Robert is there. She steps back, then stands straight to cover her shock.

"I'm sorry," she says, "about yesterday. It was childish."

He's silent for a moment. "I never said I don't love you."

Her palm is curved against the door. Her throat feels dry. "Robert--"

"You saved my life, too. You saved my life in more ways than one. That means something."

"Thank you," she says, her voice breaking slightly. "Thank you for saying that." She pauses. "I'm still not ready to come home."

"I know." His voice is soft; gentle. "I'll wait for you."

She smiles. For the first time in a while, it feels real.


End file.
